


Break

by litony (colourbreak)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Sad, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, depressed, guilty, lonely, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourbreak/pseuds/litony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their heads turned back to the television as the name Ultron was mentioned, and Tony squeezed into the small gap. He didn't want to listen to it, he knew what they'd say. But he had to, he couldn't just-</p>
<p>"Reports say that ( blurred name ) and Tony Stark- Iron Man himself, are responsible for this killing machine. Thousands have been left dead. Are they really cut out to be ( blurred voices )"</p>
<p>-Leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I recently saw Age of Ultron and oh my god I loved it. I loved it so, so much.  
> Especially Iron Man and Tony Stark and just Robert Downey Jr in general, y'feel?
> 
> I also heavily enjoy angst.
> 
> Warnings for attempted suicide & minor blood and wounds. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The party was going well, people seemed to be enjoying themselves, and as much as he wasn't- who needed to know that? Ultron had been defeated just days before, and this was their celebration party of sorts. They'd had one after saving the world from Loki, and it seemed as if time hadn't changed a thing.

Well, maybe it had.

Tony could hear Rhodey retelling the story of how he had beat off those strange bots, saving hundreds of people. He felt himself suppress a shudder at the extreme details and he turned on his heel away from the story- itching to hear anything but it.

The nightmares had come back since they defeated Ultron. Well, they had never really left- but now they were back and stronger than ever. It didn't help that he had the guilt of creating Ultron constantly in the back of his mind as well.

He spotted the rest of the team crowding a TV, and he briskly walked over, smiling one of his signature smiles at Clint as he approached, raising his glass.

_Clink._

Their heads turned back to the television as the name Ultron was mentioned, and Tony squeezed into the small gap. He didn't want to listen to it, he knew what they'd say. But he had to, he couldn't just-

"Reports say that ( _blurred name_ ) and **Tony Stark** \- _Iron Man himself_ , are **responsible** for this **killing machine**. **Thousands** have been left **dead**. Are they really cut out to be ( _blurred voices_ )"

-Leave.

He had only heard the parts he needed to set him off, and he felt himself turn, quicker and more suspiciously than he would have liked, wasting no time in rushing from the room and to the elevator. "Jarvis," he said, voice catching in his throat. He could see the others rushing towards him in the reflective surface of the closed elevator doors. "Jarvis open the doors, go to my workshop," he demanded, voice filled with a panic he absolutely hated to put on display. It was without a word that the elevator doors popped open and Tony rushed in, pressing the 'shut' button and leaning back with a sigh as he descended down and away from his friends. He couldn't let them see him like this, he hadn't ever let anybody see him like this- overwhelmed, sad, guilty, and finding himself not wanting to live-

Wait.

"Did I just say I didn't want to live?" he pondered aloud, narrowing his bloodshot eyes. He hadn't particularly thought about that, not wanting to live- it had just slipped right out. He thought about it now, though. He thought of all the innocent people that were dead because of him, not only now but other times as well. He thought about the guilt that practically ate him alive and sucked every last bit of energy out of him somedays. He thought of the sleepless nights and the nightmare filled ones, the forced smiles and the longing to forget, but not forgive. He realized with quite an amount of shock that indeed, he did want to die. He wanted to sleep and never wake up again, or die a painful death like he deserved, or-

"Sir, you need to breathe,"

He hadn't even realized how erratic his breathing had become and the tears that had welled at the edges of his eyes. He hadn't noticed his shaking hand and how the elevator must have stopped at least five minutes ago. Without even uttering a word, he slipped out from the elevator. He felt disoriented- drunk in a way.

_He could really use a drink._

Ignoring the fact that he'd been sipping on Wine and Martinis all night, he reached for one of his many not-so-secret stashes, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig from it directly. He didn't feel the normal affect though, the relaxed sensation that usually took over his body as he drank until he passed out. It was gone, and that threw him off. He needed it, he _relied_ on it. He'd go as far as to say it kept him sane and at least somewhat happy or content when he was far enough gone. But now _it_  was gone.

"No, fuck, _fuck_!" he yelled, voice getting louder with each word. Without thinking, he threw the bottle straight forward, where it smashed into a large glass pane and, surprisingly, broke the glass of the window as well- shattering at the impact. He looked up at the smash of the glass, noticing the dark sky backdrop and the lights of the city that never slept- illuminating the night. His eye caught the reflection of the shards of glass lying around- jutted edges and sharp and a knife. He walked towards them. He picked a somewhat large one up, cradling it in his hand. He squeezed it a bit, feeling the sharp edges bite into the rough and callused skin that was his palm. This could be his out, just cut a vein and bleed out. Slow and painful and _just what he deserved_ \- or-

He looked up at the gaping hole that was left by the window. Stepping forward, through the glass, he peered over the edge- feeling sick as he eyed the bottom. It may have been dark, but he could still see the paved ground clearly. He was up fairly high, perhaps on the 100th floor of the tower. A jump from here would for sure kill him- quick and painless and-

"Stark!"

_No._

"Tony get back from there!"

He turned to see Steve rushing towards him, and he narrowed his eyes, his head beginning to pound. "Don't come any closer," he growled in a low voice, yet loud enough for Steve to hear. The man stopped.

"Tony, please step away from the edge and put the glass down," Steve practically begged, seeing the crimson blood drip from the man's hand.

"Why, _Captain America?_ " he challenged with dry voice, looking him dead in the eye. "Why should I?"

"Because! You're an avenger and our friend and such a smart person! Tony, you've helped so many people, don't do this-"

" _Helped?_ " he cut Steve off, laughing. It sounded pained- forced.

He was hurting.

"Rogers, I killed so, _so_ many people with my stupid ass inventions and fucking daredevil of a mind!" he said, voice raising to a shout. "I'm a murdered Steve, I'm a-"

"No you aren'-"

"Yes, I am!" he screamed back, hysterical now. He dropped the shard of glass, his hands shaking too much to grip it tightly any more. Tears were in his eyes and threatening to spill over. He had never cried in front of anybody before. "My Dad was right about me, Steve. I was always the second choice, always nothing in his eyes. I'm still nothing!" he said, voice catching.

And suddenly he grew calm, eerily calm. "Do you know how it _feels_ , Steve? To never sleep and when you do you're awakened by nightmares so bad that you're in tears before you _even wake up_? That you're shaking and fucking sobbing and you never want to sleep again. But then, then you drink to forget and when you do that you pass out and the nightmares happen and you do it again and again and _again_!" his voice was shaking- he was shaking. "To hardly ever eat, only doing it to survive on the off chance someone needs you. And when you do, you feel so, so sick. Sometimes you do get sick and then you don't eat for as long as humanly possible- because when you eat you think of all the _bodies_ and _innocent people_ and-" he stopped. "Do you know how it feels to wake up feeling numb and like you're _drowning_ and wishing you were dead, Steve? To have the weight of thousands of deaths on your shoulders twenty-four-seven?"

"No," Steve answered simply, feeling taken aback by what Tony was describing and also how much the latter was telling him and letting him in.

"It feels like complete and utter _shit_ ," Tony snapped. "Depression and drinking and _guilt_ -, I can't do it any more,"

He shed his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor, covering some of the glass. He raised his hand up to the top of his tie, pulling at it until it came loose. He dropped it to the floor as well.

"Bye, Steve- I'm sorry,"

He turned and stepped towards the edge, looking over before closing his eyes and leaning forward.

_He could taste his freedom._

He felt a hand grab his arm and throw him back over the top.

_No._

He opened his eyes, staring at the hole in the wall- too far for him to reach now. Steve was walking towards him- he could see him crying. He had hurt another person, one of his closest friends. As he moved to try and get near the edge once more, he felt Steve put his hands on his shoulders, holding him down. He watched the blonde kneel at face level with him, looking into his eyes and studying them.

_"Why didn't you let me die?"_

He broke at that. He let the tears fall, his body shook like an earthquake. He could feel Steve pulling him into a tight hug- and he sobbed into the blondes shirt, arms flying around and gripping at the man's back- grabbing his shirt into his fists as he sobbed. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, and eventually, Steve felt Tony loosen his grip and the tears came less.

Tony felt weak, dizzy. Partially, it was from the hyperventilation and pure extremity of the situation, but that wasn't all of it. "S-Steve," he stuttered, voice low and raspy. "My hand."

"Oh _shit_." Steve felt himself curse, feeling Tony unravel from his position. He grabbed the effected hand and stared. The blood had clotted for the most part but there were still some parts that were bleeding. From what he could tell, the cut was deep- too. "Jarvis, get Bruce down here, _now_!" Steve shouted. He could hear Tony whimper weakly in protest but they both knew he needed a doctor- as much as Tony would be satisfied with bleeding out on the floor.

It took a few minutes but soon Bruce appeared, medical kit in hand. Steve saw his face pale as he took in the scene- shattered glass, a large open pane, dropped suit jacket and tie. His eyes then rested on Steve and Tony. Steve was cradling Tony in his arms- pressing a piece of cloth he had found to the wound.

"Oh my god," Bruce said softly, rushing forward and dropping to his knees. "What happened, what did he do?" he Bruce asked Steve frantically.

"He tried to jump," Steve said quietly, and Bruce dropped his eyes to look at Tony. One of his closest friends, one he would have never suspected of being suicidal- but one that he should have. How could he _not_ be? Bruce mentally cursed himself- cringing as he noticed the tear stains and puffy eyes. Tony never showed any emotions other than happy and a sarcastic asshole- this certainly wasn't expected.

 

It took him a little bit, but he soon had Tony's hand bandaged up. "He needs a blood transfer," he informed Steve. "We have to go to the hospital."

"No hospital," Tony mumbled. They had thought he had fainted from blood loss- but apparently not. "I don't want- want the whole town knowing that billionaire Tony Stark- _Iron Man_ , tried to off himself. What a _fucking hoot_ that would be for me," he laughed, coughing and spluttering. "It would be on TV and on the streets- it'd never be forgotten!"

He was hysterical again.

"Tony, Tony, calm down, alright? We'll do it here, _we'll do it here_ ," Bruce reassured, watching as Tony slowly calmed at his words. He bit his lip, he knew Tony trusted him too much to take him to the hospital- he would have to do it here, he couldn't break his trust. _Not now._

"Okay, we need to take him to the medical floor," Bruce instructed, looking up at Steve- whom was still cradling Tony in his arms. "I don't think he's in any condition to walk," he added, "So you'll have to carry him."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The next one will be out soon, I hope c:


End file.
